Happy New Year!

A couple quick updates to start off 2019.

Challenge of the Month

We're working our way through the entries for November and December's Challenge of the Month. Due to the holiday, giving every entry a fair read and determining a winner is taking a bit longer than anticipated. Keep an eye out for an winner announcement in the next couple of days, as well as January's prompt.

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We wish you all a fantastic 2019. Great things ahead.

Prose.

A hand burst out from the ground

It was right there he had been buried right in the mound~

But the others wondered where Sal could be-

his body had not yet been found...

He stretched his body, his bones cracked, snapped & popped back into place—

Sal was moving at a snail’s pace.

His wife, sat in shock with her older brother,

he brought out his spell book and told his sister not to worry.

He stared at the front door and smiled. His work here was done.

There was a knock at the door, Sal’s wife opened it & screamed in fright- the moment she had a terrifying sight of her dear, Sal.

What kind of sorcery was this?

Her brother comforted her. He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek.

‘This is my gift to you, Veronika!’

with that he bid his sister adieu and walked past Sal, leaving Veronika with her formerly dead, now somewhat alive, husband.

Right outside the Closed front door. Veronika’s brother waved his hand and then a cloud of smoke rose from the ground. It swept underneath the door and swirled around Sal.

Veronika looked in shock, as Sal’s decaying skin now turned back to living flesh. She gasped and her eyes grew wider the moment Sal now looked more alive, & healthier than he did not so long ago.

Sal smiled and gave his wife a tight squeeze, lifting her off the ground. She didn’t know if she needed to scream (again), but with joy this time...or to start crying from this crazy night..

Veronika was really certain about one thing. Her brother was the one behind Sal’s return. She sighed. This was a lot for her to think about. After her neighbor had managed to help her with getting rid of Sal in a snap.

While Veronika was reflecting back and thinking of what to do next, she wondered if her brother knew what she had done. If so, then this was his way of making sure she got what she deserved. By bringing Sal back, he was sure that she wouldn’t try to kill him again. Then again, if she tried to take his life, she would be in for a startling surprise.

Sal was back in the land of the living. Since he had been in the realm of the dead, and crossed back over, he was now nearly Immortal. Thanks to Veronika’s brother and his handiwork, Sal was almost indestructible.

#LeCadeau!

Seven little moments’ walk on by,

The first,

Those blue eyes are the worst.

Slave to their sweet wiles,

I cannot ignore their lustre.

Six little moments trickle by,

It takes two,

To fall for you.

Those rosy cheeks and golden hair,

Lust and apprehension held within that stare.

Four little moments crawl on by,

Then there’s three,

A nibble and kiss to set me heart free,

A caress like a knock, a breath of a question.

Against the door of smooth skin, “May I come in.”

One little moment is all I’m left,

Hands held in desperate prayer,

Mingled breath,

To all else deaf.

Two souls, one kiss,

And seven little moments we’re going to miss.

#OfPenAndPaper #Sevenlittlemoments

"Listen."

"I don't hear anything, Jamie; what do you hear?"

"I think they’re comin again."

Trepidation filled Terry as he strained to hear. There was nothing. Nothing save for the usual scraping from Dave’s room next door. He turned toward Jamie and saw the lean man standing by the padded door.

“I hear em comin for ye. Time for yer meds, Terry my lad. Gona take a trip down smooth alley, sailing on imaginary fantasies while they play hide n seek with yer arse.”

Jamie turned and giggled in his direction, knowing how it unnerved him.

“Shut it, Jamie, you’re always so mean to me!”

Jamie fell silent and walked back to his bunk. Then, there came the sound of several footsteps approaching. Terry’s guts twisted into knots, his hands slick with sweat. Perhaps they weren’t coming for him this time. He tried to swallow but his throat was dry. He heard the footsteps approach steadily, each step echoed through his being. They stopped, all of them, by his door. He heard the murmur of voices as his tormentors discussed something. Then keys clanking against one another. Try as he might, he could not keep them back. Warm tears streamed down his cheeks, and he whimpered uncontrollably. He heard Jamie laughing beside him, and turned to see him smirking at him. Anger filled him at that moment, why did they spare this vile bastard and enjoy torturing him. None of it made sense.

”Ye ready there, Terry my lad? Ye better say those Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s.”

“What if they didn’t come for me Jamie? Maybe they’re here for you!”

Spittle flying from his mouth, he rose to his feet and bore down on Jamie. This time he didn’t care if they both got into trouble, he would beat the crap out of Jamie.

“Now, we both know they not comin for me, Jamie my boy. And if ye want to pull me in on yer trouble, fine… but I’ll hit ye so hard yer friends’ll feel it.”

The door opened as Terry lunged toward Jamie with balled fists. Jamie was bigger than he was, and taller. He avoided Terry’s loose punches and drove his large fist square into his midriff. The air flew out of him and before he could wince, Terry felt a second blow floor him. Four men entered the room, grasped Terry by his limbs, and dragged him from his cell.

“No I didn’t start it please let me go! It was Jamie he made me do it! Jamie, you bastard, I’ll get you for this!”

He was thrashing against his captors with all his might, but their grips were like iron. They said nothing only looked down at him with the contempt he was accustomed to. The light overhead in the passage was blinding in comparison to the twilight of his cell. He could hear Jamie laughing, and it increased his anger and frustration tenfold. He doubled his efforts and freed his right hand. Balling his fist, he struck out at the man who had been holding it, catching him below the crotch. The man howled with pain doubling over. He cursed severely, then removed a syringe from the folds of his white uniform. He yelled for the others to hold Terry down, as he plunged the needle of the syringe in his shoulder and injected its contents. Everything became a blur as Terry lost consciousness.

Terry awoke to an all familiar sight. He was restrained in an uncomfortable chair, with wiring along his bare chest and head. He did not try to struggle for he knew it was pointless. Turning his head as far to the right as his bonds allowed, he saw the man who called himself Dr. Green. He was adjusting nobs and dials on the apparatus connected to the wiring on Terry. He looked up and smiled as he met Terry’s gaze.

“You’re awake Terry, good. Now we may begin.”

”Why are you doing this to me Dr. Green? I’ve been good I swear I have!”

Fresh tears welled up in his eyes as he searched the doctor’s face for some sign of sympathy. There came none. The doctor merely smiled and adjusted a few more devices. Then he walked over to Terry with a clipboard and pen. He placed a chair directly across from Terry and crossed his legs.

“Tell me Terry, how’s Jamie doing?”

This was the drill. Every time they brought him here, the opening question was the same. How’s Jamie doing. If they really gave a damn about Jamie, he would be in the chair and not Terry!

“Jamie is still mean to me. He says the most awful things. Why don’t you ever take Jamie doctor? Why do you only take me and ask me questions about Jamie!”

Dr. Green sighed, and scribbled a few notes on his clipboard.

“Because Terry, Jamie does not exist. He is a delusion of imagination, and we are here to cure you of it. Now relax, this will only hurt for a bit.”

#OfPenAndPaper #Torment

I don’t feel so empty,

But that’s okay.

I don’t feel so alone,

That’s okay too.

I feel elation coursing through me, liquid lightning in my veins.

When I write I’m a vessel, a dial up modem for creation.

I must.

They compel me to do so.

What would I be without them?

Their hurts, their stories,

Their evil deeds and tales of glory.

I would be alone,

I would be empty.

But I’m not,

Not until I’m done telling their tale.

Then comes the void of being empty and alone.

#OfPenAndPaper #Thetelling

Upon the calm sea my visions of her and I lie in shipwreck.

Atop my Island vantage point cursing the hopeless prospect.

A tale of fairies, to profess but know it's untrue,

Abashed to know I thoughtlessly chased after you.

I braved the storms of your insecurities, a fragile heart,

The bitterness of your indifference and the regrets of our past.

Tides of weakness swept me closer to the tongues of your deceit,

I raise ancor and breath, this was always to be my defeat.

#OfPenAndPaper #Shipwreck

The sweetest things in life are free,

Loving you is the freest thing for me.

If I lost my freedom and discarded all I know,

I would be content, for loving you is all I would have to show.

#OfPenAndPaper #LovingYou

We sit on a train rushing through the hills of Italy. Rain hits the polished windows like a long forgotten melody. But you cannot focus on the melancholy rain or the whispering hills because there is a beautiful woman across from you, her delicate hands folded on top of her red skirt. Her eyes track the distance outside of the train, and yours simply admire her. The curve of her lips. The splatter if golden freckles across her high cheekbones. The warm brown of her curling hair. Then she looks at you, with her lovely galaxy eyes, and you realize you’ve forgotten about the loveliness of love in a hateful world.

“You are just a servant with a glorified name!” The words echo and flash in my brain long after she stormed out of my office and I resumed typing, my fingers mechanically flying over the keyboard and my eyes staring unseeing at the monitor.

Suddenly, my fingers stop and I look down without moving my head. My hands are trembling and I feel a puzzled little frown forming between my brows. Slowly I move my hands into my lap, and there those thin trembling fingers entangle and grip each other convulsively.

Oh how dreadful, this visible sign of anguish. How remarkable that although the rest of me is quite numb, almost surreal; my hands tremble as if palsied.

I close my eyes for an instant as those words echo and flash once more: You are just a servant with a glorified name! The words flash bright in ugly neon colours, dripping like fake blood in a B-rate horror movie. Other words clamour to join them in a macabre dance through my ravaged mind. How do you know so much? You don’t even have a degree!

Decisively, I slam the door on them, gritting my teeth until my jaw aches. Relief floods my breast – the door still works, that mental tamper I imagined into being so long ago to counter these onslaughts. Blessed silence.

I am startled by a sound from the door and, looking up, I stare into the confused brown eyes of my boss. I almost laugh out loud, but check this impulse ruthlessly. Ah, the age-old confusion. Men do not and never will understand women, even less the little cruelties members of my sex visit upon each other like so many little endearments.

I plaster a bright smile on my face, rise from my chair and in a deliberately soothing voice ask if there is anything I can do for him.

Again, I almost burst out laughing when the confusion in his eyes are joined by a fierce frown on his affable face. In my mind’s eye I see him as one of the Greek Gods of old puzzled at Hera’s cruelty to one or other mortal woman. Not Zeus, for surely Zeus knew and understood his wife’s idiotic envy of his mortal paramours.

But my nemesis here is not the Goddess Hera. No. She is but the latest in a parade of uncomely, highly-educated – Phd, no less – androgynous, male-hating radical feminists. One of those pseudo-male women who utterly despise women like me; women who revel completely in their femininity. Women who do not want to be equal with men; but rather, understand intrinsically and instinctively since birth, that men and women are too different to ever be equal. To be equal, the two must be comparable – and they are not. They are like day and night, the moon and the sun – made of the same matter, but never the same nature.

I walk round my desk and approach him, smile still in place. The frown on his face smooths out and he returns my smile, shaking his head a little, and asks: What was that all about?

I tilt my head slightly to the left and answer softly: Nothing for you to worry about, sir, nothing at all.

The drumming beat on pine and stone,

The clap of thunder that calls me home.

Shadows lengthen at ebbing light,

A night so true in void and blight.

Soar and rise through oceans grey,

To the golden city of eternal day.

It calls me home,

It calls me home.

The horns of thunder call me home.

Take heart and know I am not alone.

My people walk among the heavens,

O’ falling rain, that calls me home.

#OfPenAndPaper